Fate's Wild Card Ch.24 (Released)

AN: Classic option it is then.

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"Cardin Winchester."

Pryce's ears immediately swivel toward the source of loud snickering. His eyes lock onto a large guy with short brown hair standing up with a confident smirk plastered across his face—broad-shouldered, easily over six feet tall, and radiating an aura of smug self-assurance.

So that's Cardin Winchester.

Cardin rolls his shoulders and locks his gaze with Pryce, his smirk widening as if he's already won.

Underestimating much?

"Both of you, go to the locker rooms to change into your combat attire and retrieve your weapons," Goodwitch instructs crisply. "You have five minutes. Do not keep the class waiting."

Pryce stands up, immediately aware of dozens of eyes tracking his movement.

"You've got this, Pryce!" Ruby calls out enthusiastically, pumping her fist in the air. "Show him what Team RWPN is made of!"

"Ruby, he hasn't even left yet," Weiss starts with exasperation.

"I know, but still! Go Pryce! Team spirit!"

Weiss sighs, clearly giving up on tempering their leader's enthusiasm.

Pryce nods in the reaper’s direction before making his way out of the room and down the corridor toward the locker rooms. Moments later, he hears heavy footsteps behind him—obviously Cardin following close behind. Neither of them says a word to each other. 

Just their footsteps echoing in the hallway, creating an awkward silence.

Once they reach the locker room each heads to their respective lockers on opposite sides.

Pryce works quickly, stripping off his uniform and pulling on his combat gear, all for mobility. He secures his gunblade to its magnetic sheath on his back, then checks all his straps and adjusts his belt to ensure everything sits properly.

With that done, he closes his locker with a metallic clang and turns to leave. On his way out, he catches a glimpse of Cardin across the room. The larger student is halfway through donning his full plate armor, currently pulling on heavy shoulder pieces—pauldrons, maybe? 

Pryce isn't entirely sure of the right words for fancy armor since it had crests and highlights with gold, or maybe just a golden color?

But it doesn't change that it looks expensive. Probably custom-made. He remembers a few of the rich houses he hit had a set of armor like that on display.

He leaves the place and makes his way back to the class, all the way thinking of what he just saw. That heavy armor is going to be difficult to deal with. 

He knows that a blade won't be particularly effective against heavy armor. But all that weight means Cardin is probably slow in all that gear, which could be an advantage. 

He'll have to improvise something on the spot. 

Speed versus heavy. Classic match-up.

Maybe that's the reason for Glynda's choice.

When Pryce arrives back at the arena, the students immediately turn their attention to him, making him the center of the spotlight. He walks down the steps without acknowledging the stares, moving onto the combat floor. He takes his position on his designated side and waits, his hand resting on his hip while his ears track sounds around the area.

Moments later, Cardin arrives with his mace resting lazily on his shoulder, still projecting that same aura of confidence. His armor clanks with each step as he makes his way to his side of the arena, that smug smirk still fixed firmly on his face like it's been painted there.

Is he trying to intimidate him or something? Because it's not working.

Smugness only fits on his girlfriend, that girl was born to be smug.

Then Goodwitch steps forward, positioning herself between them.

"The rules for this engagement are simple," she announces. "The match will continue until one combatant's aura drops into the red zone, or until someone yields, or until you are forced out of the arena. I will be monitoring your aura levels closely throughout to avoid injury."

She pauses.

"However, for the purposes of this demonstration, there are additional limitations. First: no semblances. If either of you possess a semblance, you are expressly forbidden from using it during this match. Second: no firearms. If your weapon has an integrated gun function, it is not to be employed as a weapon."

Pryce's ears flatten slightly in annoyance. His gunblade is now basically just an oversized one-handed sword. A lot of what Crow taught him was about shooting. And judging by the woman’s strictness he won't be able to use any of his usual tricks from street fighting either. He's being forced to fight cleanly with just his blade, which is a massive handicap.

Damn.

"Are there any questions?" Goodwitch asks.

Pryce raises his hand immediately.

"Yes, Mr. Locke?"

"What about using the gun purely for mobility?" he asks. "Not as a weapon just for… mobility?"

He remembers back at initiation how Ruby used Crescent Rose's big recoil to move around. Maybe he can translate that concept to his gunblade. He has some half-formed ideas about using the Fire Dust chambers to create controlled bursts of acceleration. Create momentum where there shouldn't be any.

He'd done something similar during initiation when stopping his fall, and it had worked. Thankfully.

The blonde woman furrows her brow, tapping her riding crop against her palm thoughtfully as she seems to be thinking about it.

"That is... a reasonable interpretation," she says finally, though her tone suggests she's not entirely pleased about it. "If the use of Dust is strictly limited to enhance your movements and not employed as a direct offensive measure, I will allow it. However," she fixes him with a sharp, warning look, "I will be watching very carefully. Any abuse of this exception to gain a cheap shot will result in immediate disqualification and a trip directly to the headmaster's office. Am I clear?"

"Crystal clear," Pryce confirms with a slight smirk.

He's still handicapped compared to a normal fight, but now he might be able to pull off a couple moves. Which is still improvisation but more options at the very least.

Cardin just snorts dismissively.

The strict woman steps back, positioning herself at the edge of the arena. She raises her hand.

"Combatants, take your positions."

Pryce draws his gunblade with a smooth motion and gives it a quick, flashy twirl—partly for show, partly to loosen his wrist—before settling into a ready stance. His weight shifts forward onto the balls of his feet, knees slightly bent, blade held at his shoulder. All his senses snap to full alert, his ears tracking every sound, his eyes focused on his opponent.

Cardin hefts his mace off his shoulder, gripping it with just one hand. The weapon looks deceptively simple—just a heavy head but Pryce has learned the hard way that in this world, weapons are rarely what they appear to be. Probably mechashift or hidden blade or anything.

He'll be mindful about it.

Goodwitch's hand drops sharply.

"Begin!"

As soon as the start is given, the entire arena plunges into darkness. Only a single powerful spotlight remains, illuminating the combat floor in a stark white circle.

Pryce's eyes adjust quickly—his Faunus vision handling the sudden change better than most. He can still see without much problem, though the harsh contrast between light and dark is a little disorienting. The spotlight is probably meant so he and Cardin are the only focus.

But that's beside the point.

He frowns, immediately analyzing the situation as he starts taking a few tentative steps to the right, circling slowly. Testing his fighter reaction. Watching for any tells in his stance or movement.

Cardin doesn't react immediately, his feet staying planted. But his eyes track Pryce's movement, that dumb smirk still fixed on his face.

‘He wants me to attack first,’ Pryce realizes. ‘Probably trying to bait me into rushing in so he can use his reach and strength advantage. Maybe even trying to throw me out of the arena with one big hit.’

But Pryce needs to test the waters first.

So he makes his decision and charges forward, building momentum before launching himself into the air. He grips his gunblade with both hands, bringing it down with all the force he can, aimed at the shoulder.

But then Winchester’s grin widens viciously as he suddenly moves his mace with both hands and twists it sharply. The weapon extends quickly, the shaft telescoping outward to nearly double its length.

‘Shit!’

Cardin swings the now-extended mace in a wide, two-handed arc directly at Pryce's chest.

Pryce twists his body at an awkward angle mid-air, barely managing to adjust his trajectory. His foot catches the shaft of the extended mace and he uses it as a springboard, pushing off hard and propelling himself away from his opponent’s reach. He lands in a crouch several feet back, skidding slightly on the arena floor, his boots scraping against the surface.

‘That was close.’

Cardin doesn't seem to like that, judging by the scowl that replaces his confident smirk. He twists the mace again with a sharp motion, and the weapon retracts back to its original compact form.

Then he charges forward with surprising speed for someone wearing full plate armor, swinging his mace one-handed.

Pryce ducks under it, feeling the weapon whoosh past just inches above his rabbit ears. The follow-up comes immediately—a reverse swing from the opposite direction. So he raises his gunblade and blocks it, the impact sending a jarring vibration through his arms so the idiot then tries again. But Pryce manages to deflect the blow since he angled his blade and let the mace slide off rather than taking the full impact once more.

And that creates a brief opening. One he doesn't hesitate to capitalize on as he steps in close, curls his free hand into a fist, and delivers a solid punch directly to the guy’s jaw.

And it connects with a satisfying thud.

Then he immediately disengages, creating distance with a quick backstep before Cardin can retaliate.

The buff guy grunts, his head snapping slightly to the side from the punch. He narrows his eyes dangerously, touching his jaw briefly before gripping his mace tighter.

Pryce decides to capitalize on the momentum. He positions his gunblade at a new angle, planning to use the dust to propel himself forward in a burst of speed before he can react.

He pulls the trigger.

Click. Click.

What?

He immediately brings up his gunblade to check the chamber.

Ah fuck. He didn't load the weapon.

He'd completely forgotten about it. Fuck.

Pryce instantly ducks as Cardin's mace flies overhead, the wind from its passage ruffling his hair and hitting the tip of his ears. He follows through with a backward flip, his hands hitting the ground briefly as he kicks his legs up and over, just barely dodging a heavy kick that would have caught him in the chest.

He completes the backflip and immediately has to execute a second one as Cardin presses the advantage. The larger fighter jumps, raising his mace with both hands for a slam attack.

Pryce's second backflip carries him just out of range as Cardin's mace crashes into the arena floor with full force. The impact cracks the surface, sending small fragments of debris scattering.

That confirms it—getting hit will hurt like hell. His aura might absorb the worst of it, but since his aura is not that large it might put him in the red.

He needs to be smarter about this. 

But without his Dust, a good chunk of his ideas are gone. Although he should have another round of cartridges in his pouch. He would need to be quick to load them before he gets rushed.

Meanwhile, Cardin pulls his mace from the cracked floor and straightens up, rolling his shoulders. "What's wrong? Scared?"

Neo is scarier. 

Wait… Neo!

She taught him a couple moves to deal with bigger targets, even if she acted on those moves against him just for fun.

So Pryce shifts his weight and adjusts his footing, settling into a looser, more fluid stance. Neo had shown him how to use an opponent's size and strength against them. Which she'd demonstrated repeatedly by throwing him around when she wanted a rough quickie and she would be topping. But ignoring that last part the moves had stuck with him.

He waits for Cardin to make the next move.

And he obliges, charging forward with his mace raised for another strike.

As the mace comes down in a crushing overhead arc, Pryce doesn't try to block it or dodge away. Instead, he slides in close—dangerously close—inside the arc of the swing where the weapon isn’t effective. It's the exact opposite of what most fighters would do, and that's what makes it work.

"Wha—?!"

He grabs Cardin's extended arm with both hands, using the downward momentum of the swing to pull himself even closer into his guard. In one smooth motion, he plants his foot behind Cardin's forward leg as a pivot point, then twists his entire body. 

The new move catches Cardin completely by surprise. The guy in heavy armor crashes to the floor with a clang that echoes through the room. His mace clatters away across the surface, spinning out of immediate reach.

Pryce doesn't give him even a second to process what just happened. He immediately moves to finish the fight, raising his boot to drive a stomp down toward the head.

But his opponent rolls away at the last possible second, his armor scraping against the floor. Pryce's boot slams into the empty surface with a sharp crack. 

He clicks his tongue in annoyance but at least he has the clear advantage now—his opponent is disarmed, grounded.

So naturally he presses on his newly gained advantage.

Pryce charges and draws back his fist for what should be a finishing strike aimed at the jaw.

However, Cardin's hand shoots up faster than expected, catching Pryce's wrist mid-punch with an iron grip that stops his momentum completely cold.

Pryce's eyes widen as the bastard’s confident smirk returns full force.

Then the bastard twists Pryce's wrist viciously. Sharp pain lances through his arm, forcing it into an unnatural angle that makes his tendons scream. Before Pryce can counter or wrench away, Cardin drives his other armored fist into the elbow with a hard thud.

The faunus hisses, the combined pain shooting through his arm is enough to force his fingers open involuntarily, his grip failing.

And his gunblade clatters to the floor.

"Got you." Cardin growls triumphantly.

Pryce tries desperately to break free, twisting and pulling against the grip with everything he has, but Cardin's strength advantage is absolutely overwhelming at this close range. The armored fighter yanks hard, pulling Pryce off balance and dragging him forward into his guard. Then he drives his knee straight up into Pryce's stomach with devastating force.

All the air explodes from his lungs in a harsh, painful wheeze. His aura flares around his body, absorbing some of the damage, but nowhere near enough. He doubles over involuntarily, coughing and gagging violently as his diaphragm spasms. He tries desperately to draw even a single breath into his seized-up lungs. His vision blurs and darkens at the edges.

Before he can even begin to recover, Cardin releases his wrist and delivers a direct punch straight to his face, and it doesn’t help that he is wearing a metal gauntlet.

The reinforced blow sends Pryce sprawling backward onto the floor. Stars burst across his vision in painful white flashes. Much to his annoyance, he can taste blood flooding his mouth—he definitely bit his tongue or the inside of his cheek. His ears are ringing loudly with a high-pitched whine.

That really pisses him off.

That same anger surges through the pain making it secondary in his mind and slams both palms against the cold floor and pushes himself back to his feet through sheer stubborn fury. 

The bastard is casually retrieving his mace with the unhurried confidence of someone who thinks they've already won, looking stupidly smug..

Fuck that noise.

Fuck this smug armored asshole.

Only his girlfriend gets to be smug!

Pryce spits blood and charges forward with renewed determination. He closes the distance before Cardin can fully prepare.

He leaps into the air, using his speed and forward momentum. Instead of a straightforward tackle. Pryce twists mid-air exactly like Neo had drilled into him. His arms coil around Cardin's neck and weapon arm in a spinning, acrobatic motion. He uses his body weight and the rotational force to  destabilize the larger fighter's center of gravity, turning Cardin's own mass against him.

The spinning takedown sends Cardin crashing hard to the ground again face first with Pryce controlling the entire fall, directing where and how they land.

The instant they hit the floor, Pryce immediately springs up and attempts a double-footed stomp aimed at Cardin's armored chest, channeling his full weight and remaining aura to end the fight.

But this time, instead of rolling away, Cardin catches both of Pryce's boots with his hands just as they make contact with his chest plate. The impact still connects with a heavy thud, but the thick armor plating takes most of the force and bends by the crushing force.

Pryce realizes too late as Cardin holds both his legs firmly in place with that iron grip, completely stopping the attack's full momentum.

Then Cardin rolls explosively, using the faunus' captured legs as perfect leverage.

Pryce barely has time to throw his arms up defensively in front of his face. The violent roll slams him face-first toward the unforgiving floor. His aura flares around his body again, he must be really low now.

"Dammit!" he hisses through gritted teeth.

He springs back to his feet immediately and launches a straight punch at Cardin's stupid face before he can get back up..

Yet, much to his growing frustration Cardin dodges smoothly, tilting his head to the side.

But he can't dodge the vicious follow-up hook Pryce drives into his side of the chest plate with  everything he has. The punch connects solidly with a dull, satisfying thud against metal. Even through the thick steel plating, Pryce can feel the metal giving in and bending deep. The armored fighter gasps audibly and painfully.

But Pryce's hand also explodes with sharp, immediate pain from hitting solid metal plating at full force without any protection. He feels something in his knuckles give slightly, even twitching a finger felt painful. He bites back a curse, pulling his injured hand back instinctively and cradling it against his chest briefly.

"STOP!"

Professor Goodwitch's voice cuts through, all the overhead lights come back, washing out the dramatic light effect.

Glynda moves swiftly, positioning herself firmly between them with her riding crop raised.

"The match is concluded," she announces with absolute authority. "Cardin Winchester is the victor. Mr. Locke's aura has reached the red zone."

Pryce's ears flatten immediately against his head. "What?!"

He can still fight—he's absolutely sure he can still win against Cardin. He got a little roughed up, but he's pushed through worse on the streets. No, stupid technical rule should stop him now when he's this close—

But then sharp, pulsing pain from his injured hand makes him hiss loudly through gritted teeth, cutting off his aggressive thoughts. He cradles the damaged hand against his chest protectively. In hindsight, punching a solid steel plate with his bare fist was not a smart decision, aura or not.

On the opposite side, Cardin slowly drops to one knee with a metallic groan of armor, then basically collapses onto his side with a heavy clank. He rolls over onto his back, breathing hard and groaning loudly while clutching his stomach where Pryce's hook had connected.

Haha, asshole.

At least he'd made absolutely sure Cardin felt that one. Worth it.

Glynda surveys both fallen fighters with a critical eye. "Both of you will report to the infirmary immediately after I conclude my tactical analysis. But first—" She turns sharply to address the assembled class in the stands. "Can any of you identify the single biggest tactical mistake made during this engagement?"

Several hands shoot up immediately. Glynda's gaze sweeps across them methodically before settling on one specific student.

"Yes, Miss Belladonna?"

Blake stands up from her seat. "Pryce forgot to load his weapon before the match began."

"Correct," Glynda confirms with a sharp, approving nod. "Every single time before you embark on a mission or enter any combat situation, you must thoroughly check and double-check all aspects of your equipment. Ammunition, Dust reserves, mechanical functions, structural integrity—everything. A mistake like forgetting to load your weapon can and will cause your premature death in the field against Grimm or criminals. There are no second chances when a Beowolf is tearing at your throat."

She lets that sobering reality sink in for a long moment, her stern gaze sweeping across the assembled students.

"Now, Mr. Locke and Mr. Winchester—" She turns back to face them. "I must commend both of you on your demonstrated ability to adapt and overcome significant disadvantages during the course of combat. Learning close-quarters unarmed combat techniques might seem redundant or even useless to many students who rely heavily on their weapons and semblances, but as you've all just witnessed firsthand, it remains an absolutely critical and potentially life-saving skill."

Her gaze settles on Pryce specifically, and there's something that might be approval in her expression. "Especially you, Mr. Locke. It was truly impressive how quickly you managed to adapt your entire strategy when you realized you couldn't win through conventional means. You resourcefully resorted to alternative grappling and momentum-based techniques which proved far more effective against a heavily armored opponent than direct blade strikes would have been."

She pauses, her expression becoming noticeably more severe. "However, you absolutely must learn restraint and proper thinking. There is no advantage gained whatsoever if you attack so recklessly and desperately that you inflict more damage on yourself than on your opponent. Breaking your hand against solid armor plating is not a victory—it's a critical liability that could easily cost you your life in an actual combat where retreat isn't an option."

Pryce grimaces but nods in reluctant acknowledgment of the truth, still cradling his painfully throbbing hand against his chest.

Glynda then turns her sharp attention to Cardin, who's still sprawled somewhat pathetically on the arena floor in his expensive armor. "And you, Mr. Winchester. You possessed the clear and overwhelming advantage through superior equipment and raw physical strength, yet you carelessly lost that advantage through arrogance and lack of situational awareness. You eventually regained it through experience, only to nearly lose the entire match again due to overconfidence in your position."

"Humility is an essential trait for any Huntsman who wishes to survive beyond their first year in the field. Never—and I mean never under any circumstances—underestimate your opponent, regardless of their apparent disadvantages or your own perceived superiority. The moment you assume victory is guaranteed is the exact moment you create the path to your downfall." Her voice becomes even sharper. 

Cardin manages a weak nod from his position on the floor, looking properly chastened.

Glynda straightens up to her and addresses the entire assembled class once more. "Combat in the real world is inherently unpredictable and chaotic. Equipment fails at the worst possible moments. Carefully constructed plans fall apart within seconds of contact. Your greatest weapon isn't your sword, your gun, or even your semblance—it's your mind. Your ability to think clearly under pressure, adapt rapidly to changing circumstances, and overcome seemingly impossible odds. Remember what you've witnessed here today. Learn from both the successes and the critical failures demonstrated."

She gestures sharply toward the arena exit. "Class dismissed. Study the recorded footage carefully when it becomes available in the system. Mr. Locke, Mr. Winchester—infirmary. No arguments."

The students begin filing out of their seats and toward the exits, their conversations immediately erupting into excited, animated discussions.

But before Pryce can take the first step, his entire team rushes down from the stands to cluster around him.

"Pryce! That was SO cool!" Ruby practically bounces in place directly in front of him, her silver eyes absolutely sparkling. "You did that amazing spinning throw thing  like whoosh and then that punch and—oh man, it really sucks that you lost just because of your aura levels! You were doing so well and I thought you had him!"

"Indeed," Weiss says, though her tone is characteristically less enthusiastic and more clinically analytical. "Your technique was... surprisingly competent and well-executed for someone with your unconventional background and lack of formal training. Though forgetting to load your weapon beforehand was an absolutely inexcusable and frankly embarrassing oversight."

"Thanks, Weiss. Really feeling the team support and love right now," Pryce mutters sarcastically.

Pyrrha places a gentle, supportive hand on his shoulder. "You fought well, Pryce. I can teach you how—"

"Yo! Locke!"

Everyone turns to see Cardin Winchester back on his feet, though he's clearly using one of his teammates—a tall guy with distinctive mohawk-styled hair—as physical support. He's still clutching his stomach protectively with his free hand, his face showing obvious discomfort and pain, but somehow he's grinning widely.

"Nice fight, bro!" Cardin calls out loudly, "Seriously, that was intense! You got some solid moves, man! Wanna spar with me another time? That was actually really fun—haven't had a good scrap like that in weeks!"

Pryce raises an eyebrow in surprise at first before it turns into confusion. After all that back-and-forth violence, after the trash talk and the painful beat-down… Cardin actually wants a rematch? And he's being... friendly and enthusiastic about it? 

Not angry or resentful at all?

"Uh... sure. Yeah, why not," Pryce responds somewhat awkwardly, still processing this unexpected turn.

Cardin lets out a loud, booming laugh that immediately makes him wince hard and clutch his bruised stomach even tighter. "Awesome, dude! We're gonna have some epic matches! See you around, bro!" He and his teammate start heading slowly and painfully toward the exit, moving at a slow pace.

Pryce watches him go, confused by the sudden complete attitude change.

Cardin Winchester. What a strange, unpredictable fucking guy.

"Well," Pyrrha says diplomatically, ever the peacemaker, "it seems you've made quite an... impression on him."

"Yeah!" Ruby adds cheerfully, nodding enthusiastically. "A violent, painful, super intense impression! But still totally an impression! I think he likes you!"

Weiss just sighs with obvious exasperation. "Can we please get you to the infirmary before your hand swells to twice its normal size? You're still actively bleeding from your mouth, in case you somehow hadn't noticed."

Pryce touches his lip gingerly with his good hand and immediately winces at the sharp sting. Right. With his aura in the red it won’t help him heal much if any.

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AN: You probably wanted the typical bully Cardin and easy win, well too bad I will pull a twist and now you get Cardin bro now. Because nothing gets you new friends like a good fight.